


Every reunion is a type of heaven

by blue_eyed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyed/pseuds/blue_eyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had a one night stand before he was deployed to Afghanistan. He never expected to meet him again years later...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of OC character death, non-explicit drunken sex  
>  **A/N:** For [](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/profile)[**sabrinaphynn**](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/) who requested John/Lestrade in MMAM post week 49. Hope you like it, love! Many thanks to [](http://impishtubist.livejournal.com/profile)[**impishtubist**](http://impishtubist.livejournal.com/) for the beta and handholding. There's been at least one scene added since I last sent it to her, and lots of fiddling, and all remaining mistakes are mine and mne alone. Title from a quote: Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven - Tryon Edwards. I own nothing.

The club was dark and and the music thrummed heavy and low in John’s veins, pulling him deeper into the crowd. Bodies pressed against him, jostling, undulating, sometimes even groping him. John set up shop at the bar, happily buzzed.

A bloke sidled up to him up, slightly older and looking faintly ridiculous in a leather jacket that must be sweltering. But he was tall and dark and _definitely_ handsome, and going by the look on his face he seemed to think John was a decent catch too. He was smoking - clearly going for a bit of a bad boy look - and it was working. The guy smirked, sending a tendril of lust through his belly. It was John’s last night in town before deploying out, and what the military didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Get you a drink?” He leaned close to be heard over the noise. John nodded and turned his head so he could shout his order into the guy’s ear. He smelled of beer, nicotine and the leather of his jacket. John wondered what if he was going to get a chance to find out what he smelled like underneath it all.

“You looking for something in particular?”

“Think I might’ve found it.”

“Oh, really?” The bloke smirked. “Now you’ve found it, what’re you going to do?”

“Well, finish my drink first, then see where it goes.” John saluted the guy with his glass, taking a long gulp.

“Maybe the drinks were a bad idea,” the man grumbled. John laughed, feeling lighter than he had since he’d gotten the message he was being shipped out.

“C’mere then.” John pushed his half empty glass onto the bar, and grasped the other guy’s wrist.

“That’s more like it,” the other man growled, grabbing John’s hip with his other hand and pulling him close. Their lips met in a kiss that soon turned dirty. John ran his tongue along the guy’s lips, groaning softly when he opened his mouth and curled his tongue around John’s. John felt large hands slide up his ribs, thumbs teasing at his nipples. He shuddered and arched closer. The guy huffed a laugh into his mouth.

“Ok, my place. Now.” The man said, running his tongue along the rim of John’s ear.

John nodded, and the guy laughed low and dirty. “You gonna give me a name?”

“Hamish.” It wasn’t _technically_ a lie.

“Greg. Most people call me G.”

John nodded. The man pulled John through the crowd and out of the club. John curled his hands into the butter-soft leather of the other guy’s jacket, lust sparking through him.

A short taxi ride later, and they arrived at a cramped flat.

“Ignore the mess.”

“Distract me then.”

The guy huffed a laugh and pulled John into another kiss, hands bolder this time, slipping straight under his shirt. John groaned softly and nipped at Greg’s bottom lip. John’s shirt was pulled off and dropped unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Here. Just. _Here._ ” Greg said, pulling John into a bedroom.

John pushed him down onto the unmade bed and got to work on his jeans. A quick yank down revealed tanned skin and a half hard cock. He looked at Greg and raised an eyebrow.

“Commando?”

Another dirty laugh that make John’s already half hard dick twitch. “I had an inkling I’d be getting lucky. Check the pockets.”

John pulled the jeans all the way off and then searched the pockets, pulling out condoms and lube.

“Proper little scout, eh?”

The guy lifted his fingers in a scout salute before pulling John into another kiss. John shifted to straddle him, but Greg pushed him back with a hand to the chest.

“Mmm. You’re far too clothed. Up.”

John obliged, fumbling at his belt. The jeans were thrown over his shoulder and hit the bedroom door before sliding to the floor.

“That’s more like it.”

“You talk too much, you know?”

Greg regarded John’s erection and licked his lips. “I can fix that. C’mere.”  
~~~

John woke up slowly. Pain pulsed behind his eyes, making him wince. He became aware of a warmth next to him. He cracked open one eye and saw Greg, still dead to the world, snoring into his pillow. A quick peep down revealed Greg had a hand curled possessively around his hip. John smiled softly. He had enjoyed last night, Greg seemed like a good bloke, funny - John couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much in one night - not to mention great in bed. It was a shame John had to leave. He lay there a bit longer, soaking up the warmth, before quietly slipping out of bed, dressing and letting himself out.  
~~~

It didn’t click, not at first. When John first laid eyes on Lestrade there had been a spark of...something. But Lestrade hadn’t shown any signs of feeling the same thing, so John had chalked it up to one of those things and ignored it. They grew closer, not friends, but - something. John enjoyed spending time with a nice _normal_ bloke.

It wasn’t until later - after the cabbie - when Lestrade awkwardly invited John to the pub with the rest of the team. John had agreed, more to be social than anything else. He knew he was in danger of being pulled into Sherlock’s orbit and never being able to escape from their bizarre form of co-dependence.

And it was all right - a bit awkward; most of the team regarded him warily as he sat down - but after the initial small talk everything settled down. John sat back during a lull in the conversation and just enjoyed being around people.

A gruff laugh startled him. He turned to look and saw Lestrade guffawing at something DI Gregson said. John blinked and a memory hit him. The taste of nicotine and slightly stale beer, the feel of calloused hands stroking down his ribs. That was where John recognised Lestrade from.

Well. This could make things awkward.  
~~~

Lestrade was confused. He thought he and John were getting on well. Maybe even becoming friends. If it turned into more Lestrade certainly wouldn’t mind. John was nice, steady, with a quiet and dry wit. He could put up with Sherlock and still remain (relatively) normal, which had to mean something.

He hadn’t made a move on John, not yet. The closest he’d got was inviting him to the after-works drink at the local.

And he’d thought it had gone alright, not like a date, but they’d chatted and the tense line in John’s shoulders had relaxed. Lestrade had been having a conversation with Gregson when John had got up to leave, shoulders tight again. He’d said something about work and Sherlock but Lestrade didn't believe it for a second.

But the tightness had stayed whenever Lestrade had seen John. He once could’ve sworn he’d seen a slight blush crawl up John’s neck last time he’d gotten close enough to be able to see.

Sherlock had taken all but 30 seconds to look between them and snort before turning back to the corpse. Lestrade had frowned at him but no explanation had been forthcoming.  
~~~

“John!” Lestrade called. John stopped and turned to face Lestrade. “We’re going to the pub again tonight, if you want to come?”

John shifted slightly, leaning heavily on his cane. Sherlock rolled his eyes, muttered something about ‘messy emotions’ and ‘useless’ before stalking off.

John glowered at Sherlock’s retreating back before turning back to Lestrade, eyes focused on a spot over his left shoulder. Lestrade felt like he was chewing out a new recruit, not inviting a friend out for a drink. “Erm, thanks, but I’ve got plans. Thanks though.”

“No problem, maybe next time?” John nodded, still not looking at Lestrade. “So, got a hot date?”

John startled and finally looked at Lestrade, eyes wide.

“No! Erm, I mean, not really. But Sherlock has some stuff - you know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lestrade nodded, wondering what it was that was bad enough to make an ex-soldier stutter.  
~~~

John walked away from Lestrade, cringing inwardly as he replayed the conversation in his head. He was starting to regret not accepting Lestrade’s invitation. If nothing else it would be better than sitting in the flat sulking. Especially as Sherlock was being particularly obtuse about the whole situation. Obviously he’d figured out the gist of it (if not the details) very quickly on and declared the whole thing stupid and boring. Sherlock couldn’t see (didn’t want to see) why it mattered, why it should make things awkward.

Maybe spending time with Lestrade outside of his work in a friends situation would’ve helped him get over the awkwardness of it all. It would certainly have avoided the twinge of guilt he’d felt at the look of disappointment that had washed over the detective’s face.  
~~~

Lestrade took a deep breath and steeled himself. Today he was going to do it. He was going to confront John. He knocked on the door of the flat, safe in the knowledge that Sherlock was holed up in the lab. Mrs Hudson let him in with a smile and an offer of tea, which he graciously declined.

John was siting on the sofa reading the newspaper when he entered the flat, tapping on the door as he opened it. John jumped up, newspaper falling to the floor.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“No, it’s fine. Hi. Erm, Sherlock’s not here, if you’re after him.”

“I know, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Right. Shall I pop the kettle on?”

“No, it’s fine, thank you.” He took a deep breath. “Look, have I done something? To offend you, I mean. You’ve been acting awkward ever since that night at the pub, and if I have done something, I’d like to know what so I can apologise and make a note so I don’t do it again.”

“No! No, not at all.”

“Then what?” Lestrade shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to seem nonchalant.

“It’s silly.”

“So tell me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

John sighed and looked at Lestrade. After a moment he nodded.

“Fine, but at least let me have a drink first.”

Lestrade frowned, confused at John’s reaction. John went to the kitchen and pulled a can out of the fridge.

“You want?”

“Can do, thanks.”

He took a can out of John’s hand, fiddling with the ring pull.

“Right. So.” John paused. “I have no idea how to say this. So I’m going to say it.” He took a deep breath. “We had a drunken one night stand.”

Lestrade froze. “I. Sorry?”

“You and me. Drunken sex. 5th March 2007. The Birdcage.”

“I can’t verify the actual date but I used to hang out there, yeah.”

“It was the night before I shipped out to Afghanistan.”

Lestrade sat at the kitchen table and closely regarded John. Tried to picture him younger, less stressed, the type who would go home with him for a night.

“If it helps, I told you my name was Hamish.”

Lestrade blinked, memories of a mouth that tasted like rum and coke and soft giggles huffed against his skin slowly came to the light.

“You! You - with the -” Lestrade gestured to John’s hip.

John smiled and stood up, undoing his trousers to pull them down just enough to reveal the simple Rod of Asclepius that adorned his hip. Lestrade could vividly remember running his tongue over the ink. He bit his lip as more memories came back; the way John had moved underneath him, against him. He startled as John gave a small cough and sat back down.

“Sorry.” Lestrade muttered. John just shook his head, but his ears had gone pink. “Hang on, Hamish?”

“It’s my middle name. I never gave my first name.”

“Fair enough. So you thought it would be awkward.”

“Well, yeah. I guess.” John shrugged. “I’ve never re-met one of my one-nighters. Never mind work - sort of - with them on a regular basis.”

“When did you remember?”

“That night in the pub. You laughed and it - was familiar.”

Lestrade took another drink to buy himself time to sort out his feelings. Now he remembered, it was all he could think about. And yeah, really awkward.

“This is...really bloody odd. I have no idea where to go from here.”

“Yeah, me neither. It felt wrong knowing when you didn’t.”

“But you couldn’t just announce it either.” John nodded. Lestrade understood. This whole conversation was bizarre. “Look. You’re a good bloke, we’re both adults. I think we can deal with it.” At least, Lestrade hoped so.

John smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Ok.”

“Good. A couple of us are going to watch the Arsenal match, probably playing some pool, next weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

~~~  
“What?!”

“The ref is clearly blind!”

Their cries mingled with those of the other patrons huddled around small tables, eyes glued to the big screens displayed around the pub. Lestrade stood up from the pool table to watch the scuffle that had broken out on the pitch.

“Bloody refs, getting worse.” He grumbled, before leaning back down and neatly potting a yellow.

“You’d think with all the money the football industry makes they’d be able to employ people who could remember the rules.” John remarked, grinning as Lestrade fudged the next shot.

“Bugger.” Lestrade handed to cue over to John - the perils of their local being a favourite of students in the area was that cues went missing or were unusable - and picked up his drink.

John frowned at the table, before leaning down to line up the shot. Halfway through taking it, he stood up abruptly, and moved around the table for a different shot. Lestrade rolled his eyes.

“Anytime today, mate.”

“Stop trying to break my concentration. Just because you’re losing.”

“I can still pull it back, assuming you take a shot today.”

John swore at Lestrade and took the shot, grinning as he potted the red. Lestrade just laughed, low and rough. John’s brain short-circuited at the throaty sound and he fudged the shot, sending the cueball off the table.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow and went to retrieve the ball. John could feel himself flushing as he handed the cue back to Lestrade.

“My two shots then.”  
~~~

“Sherlock, what have you done with my phone?”

“Bathroom.”

“Right.” he muttered. He’d learnt to pick his battles well, and the whereabouts of his phone was not something worth picking a fight over. “Phone,” He picked it up from the side of the sink, and checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror while he was there. “Now, keys....” He was pretty sure they were in the living room.

“So you and Lestrade have got over your past then?” Sherlock called from the kitchen.

John blinked. He ran various conversational possibilities through his mind and went for the easiest, and hopefully, least mortifying.

“Yes, yes we have.”

“Good. It was making Lestrade irritable.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice. Or care, at least.”

Sherlock walked into the living room, scoffing.

“Obviously I’d notice, you two aren’t subtle. And Lestrade was being even more needlessly annoying than usual.”

“Oh.” John wasn’t sure what to make of a Sherlock who paid attention to people’s emotions.

“And this arrangement works out for me, so it would be foolish of me not to pay attention to its progress.”

“Right. Sorry - arrangement?”

“You and Lestrade.”

Realisation washed over John. “Oh, no. Sherlock - whatever you think - it’s not. No. There’s no arrangement, just friendship.”

Sherlock made a non-commital noise and turned back to whatever he was destroying in the kitchen.

“No, seriously, Sherlock.”

“Fine. No arrangement. Lestrade is coming here this evening?”

“Yeah, he’s meeting me here then we’re heading to the pub to watch the match.” John replayed the sentence in his head. “But it’s on his way! It’s nothing.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“I’m lead to believe he has many qualities that are attractive, though. And you’re certainly not adverse to relations with Lestrade.”

“I don’t know how you know, and I don’t particularly want to know, but can you please not mention it? It’s just stopped being awkward, and I don’t want you to mess this up.”

“Like I said, it benefits me greatly, why would I ‘mess this up’?”

“I don’t - what?”

“You need a relationship - physical intimacy. Lestrade can provide that, and he works with me and so understands when you need to come with me on cases. The sexual release will also make you both less tense and-”

“Yes, right. You can stop.”

“Coo-ee!” Mrs Hudson knocked on the door, Lestrade in tow. It still shocked John to see Lestrade out of his ill-fitting suits that served as his uniform.

“Hi,”

“Hi, you ready?”

“Yeah,” John walked towards the door, hoping for a quick escape.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Lestrade commented as John pushed past him. John stopped.

“Lets just say I really need a drink, yeah?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Sherlock! Don’t move the body.” Lestrade let out a sigh as Sherlock flipped the corpse and started examining the neck. He made no sign that he’d heard Lestrade at all. “Git. I swear he does it on purpose.”

John snorted and perched himself on a wall, knowing he’d be grateful for the rest when he was chasing Sherlock around London all night. 

“Seriously. Sometimes I wonder if this is all some kind of social experiment he’s set up.”

“Yeah, him and Mycroft. ‘How much will a policeman and an ex-Army doctor put up with before resorting to drink, drugs or murder.’. They’ve probably got a paper lined up and everything.”

“Their own journal.” Lestrade replied, sitting down next to him. 

“Yes. Definitely.” 

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. 

“Forget drugs, insanity more like!”

“Shush, we’re getting looks!” 

“You shush!” John covered his face with his hands, trying to muffle his giggles. “Ok, ok. I’m calm.” John gasped. “I’m going over there-” he gestured to a Costa’s “-to get a drink, and when I get back, we shall be calm, rational adults.”

“No we won’t. You can get me a coffee, though.” 

John rolled his eyes. “Keep my seat warm.”

Lestrade sat back and his team watch Sherlock. He frowned as he caught Anderson staring at Donovan. 

“They’re sleeping together.” Lestrade jumped at John’s voice. “Sorry. Here.” Lestrade took the offered cup.

“Again? Still?” 

“According to Sherlock.” He took a sip of his drink. “Something about deodorant and knees. I wasn’t quite listening at the time.”

“He’s married. She deserves better. But as long as it doesn’t affect their work it’s their choice, I suppose.” 

John hummed and sat down next to Lestrade, warm all down his side. 

“So. I have to ask, why did you get a tattoo?” 

“Oh, that. Well, it was graduation, and we were drunk.” 

“I think I can guess this story.”

“Yes, very cliche. We all decided we wanted something to commemorate it. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

“Do you regret it?”

“Not really. It doesn’t bother me. It’s sort of become part of the landscape, I don’t notice it, so I don’t think about it.” 

“Fair enough. Didn’t get one in the army then?”

“Nope, it’s never really appealed.” John paused. “I know you didn’t have any but did that change?”

“Nah.”

“That’s surprising, you seemed like the type.”

Lestrade laughed softly, “Yeah, but - Oh, hang on, Sherlock’s heading this way. Better finish your tea.”

“No, this tea is vile.” John walked to the kerb and poured the rest down a drain. “Don’t think your getting out of this conversation, by the way.”

“Tell you what - I’ll buy you another one later, after all this has been done.”

“You want to go for tea?” John asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Fine, a drink of your choosing. Bloody hell, you’re hard work!” he bumped John with his shoulder. John grabbed his arm to keep balance and laughed. 

“Laughing at crime scenes is starting to become a habit of yours.”

“Oh, god, I know. Listen, text me later, about the drink?”   
~~~  
By the time they left the pub they were tipsy. They swayed and stumbled down the street, clinging to each other for support. 

“Ugh, I’m going to regret this in the morning.” Lestrade groaned, feeling a dehydration headache already starting behind his eyes. 

“‘M gonna regret it when I get home. Sherlock will be huffy and disapproving. And there will be violin.”

Lestrade giggled. 

“‘S’not funny!” John shouted as they got to 211B. 

“Kinda is.” 

“Yeah. It’s worth all the hassle I’ll get for it.”

“I’m glad. We’ll do it again sometime.”

“Yeah.” John looked at the door and sighed. “I should probably go in.”

“You could come back to mine.” And that’s when Lestrade knew he was drunk. “I have a decent sofa.”

“That’s...quite tempting, actually.”

“Come on then. We’ll share our misery in the morning.”

They stumbled to find a cab and made their way back to Lestrade’s. The flat was small, but functional. 

“Tea. I am in desperate need of tea.”

“Aren’t you always?”

“Pretty much. You want?”

“I’ll stick to water. Here,” He handed John a couple of paracetamol. “let’s make the morning as pleasant as possible. I’ll go find some blankets.”

“Cheers.” John flopped onto the sofa, and closed his eyes. He was warm from the alcohol, dry mouthed. 

“Here, best I could do.”

“Brilliant, thanks.” Lestrade sat next to him, sipping at his water. John frowned.

“Can I ask - and I probably wouldn’t if i was sober and you can tell me to do one - why do you wear a ring?”

Lestrade looked at his finger.

“I was married, well. We wore the rings as a sign of commitment and then we had a civil ceremony when it came legal.” 

“Oh. Can I ask what happened?”

Lestrade shrugged. “He died. Motorbike accident. He was actually going out to cover an accident – he was a journalist – that's how we met. Loved that bike, nothing much would persuade him to use anything else – 'life was too short,' he'd say, 'it's only water, more in me than out there'. Anyway, he was heading out, it was wet and – yeah. There was an artic lorry, slid straight under.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I haven’t thought about it - him - in ages, actually.” Lestrade rubbed the band on his finger with his thumb. “Its weird.” 

“It’s natural I guess.” 

“Yeah.” Lestrade shook himself. “I’m a terrible host - I’ll let you get some sleep, yeah?”

“Ok, but don’t worry about it, seriously.”

Lestrade nodded and left John to it. Neither of them got much sleep that night.  
~~~

John was up and pottering around his kitchen when Lestrade stumbled out of his room. Lestrade stopped in the door way. He was topless, which Lestrade found very interesting, but he was also humming and making toast like, like he was comfortable. Lestrade found himself smiling. 

He coughed to announce his presence. 

“Morning. Toast? I helped myself, hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. And yes, please. With coffee.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be serving me? I am your guest.”

“Well my guest has taken over the kitchen, who am I to argue?”

“Shut up and put the kettle on.” 

They worked in silence for a while, making breakfast together. There were a few awkward moments where they bumped each other and muttered apologies to each other.

“So, about last night.” Lestrade said as they were sitting at his kitchen table. 

“Seriously -”

“No, let me say it, please. I didn’t mean to unburden myself on you, but I feel better for it. So, thank you.”

“Good, I’m glad I could help.” 

They ate the rest of their breakfast in a companionable silence.   
~~~  
Require your presence at Baker street immediately. SH

Lestrade hadn’t had a text like that since John had arrived. He fired off a quick text.

Just had a summons from Sherlock. Everything alright?

I got one too. Your guess is as good as mine. JW

Lestrade breathed a little easier at the reply, and made his way to Baker Street.

John was already there when he arrived, frowning at Sherlock who was engrossed in his laptop. 

“Ah, good, you’re here.” 

“Yes. Care to tell me what’s going on?” Lestrade lingered behind the sofa, 

“As I have said to John previously -”

“Oh, God.” John put his face in his hands. “Sherlock, no.”

“What? what?” Lestrade looked from one to the other of the men. 

“-this arrangement between the two of you-”

“Arrangement?”

Sherlock groaned. “Stop interrupting! This arrangement between the two of you works well for me. Try not to mess it up.”

“Nope, not any clearer.” 

“Sherlock thinks we’re in a romantic relationship.” John said, voice muffled by his hands. Lestrade inhaled sharply. Clearly he had missed out on a conversation somewhere. 

“We’re...not?”

Sherlock made a dismissive noise, flicking away their protests with a hand gesture. “If it hasn’t happened yet it will do soon.”

“What - no. I-” Lestrade spluttered, brain still trying to catch up with everything that Sherlock was saying. 

“Oh, come on! Even Anderson will have picked up on this! You both are interested in a relationship with each other, the least you can do is be adult about it, for all our sakes.”

“And you’d be the expert in adult behaviour.”

Sherlock glared at John. “My point is don’t mess it up. I don’t want to have to deal with the aftermath.”

There was a stunned silence in which Sherlock turned his attention back to his laptop, his part of the conversation apparently over.

“Right. Well. I’ll be off then.” Lestrade said awkwardly. 

“Wait, I’ll come with you. I need some fresh air.” John got up and pulled on his jacket. He aimed one last glare at Sherlock and then walked out. Lestrade thought about saying something to Sherlock, maybe asking how he could be sure that John felt that way, or that he felt that way or something. But the tiny flare of hope residing behind his stomach was fragile, too fragile to expose to Sherlock. He turned and followed John out the flat. 

John paused outside the flat before turning and heading towards the park. Lestrade fell into step behind him and they walked in silence down the street, a fragile silence between them. 

“...was that Sherlock’s version of ‘hurt him, and I’ll hurt you’?” 

Lestrade barked a surprised laugh. “Pretty much, I guess.”

“He really is unbelievable.” 

“I always assume I’d stop being surprised by him sooner or later. Apparently not.”

“He has a point though.” John said, casting Lestrade a sidewards glance. “Doesn’t he?” 

Lestrade stopped walking and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I suppose he does.”

John beamed, Lestrade huffed in relief. John stepped closer, moving one hand to grasp at Lestrade’s sleeve. Lestrade was close enough to see the flecks of green in John’s eyes. 

“I was convinced Sherlock had no idea what he was talking about.” 

“Me too. Although, I’d like to not talk about him right now.”

“Fair point. So...what now?” 

Lestrade shrugged. “We’ve sort of done it all backwards. Do we go back to...dating?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re too old to go on dates.”

“We could go for dinner?” Lestrade suggested. John looked at his watch. “Well, I didn’t mean now!”

“It’s not far off though. By the time we’ve found a cab and decided where we want to go...”

Lestrade looked at John. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“I never joke about food.” John grinned at up at him, wide and happy. Lestrade felt himself smiling stupidly back.

“Brilliant.” Lestrade said, before pulling John into a kiss.


End file.
